Cattleya
by Yuko Hakubi
Summary: Weiss Kreuz AU, WWII era. Receiving an anniversary gift long in coming from Omi, Yohji and Ran read and reflect on the hardships which brought them together.


Cattleya

By Yuko Hakubi

Rating: MA

Pairings: Crawford/Yohji/Shuldig, Yohji/Aya, implied Ken/Omi

_[German_

_/Japanese-first half of book/_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Weiss Kreuz or any characters but ones which do not appear in the series. I've nothing of value, so let's not sue me, eh?**

Author's Notes: In the early to mid 1900s, immigration to the US from Asia was put to a complete halt, and in several states, a marriage between a Caucasian and a citizen of Asian descent was outlawed. While I could not figure out exactly which states had such laws at the time, we shall say that for the sake of the story that Yohji's parents were either married overseas or that California was exempt from such laws. Also note that I had no intention of making light of Japanese American internment during WWII. This is merely the time period in which the story played out, and I hope that no one takes offense to it.

_Part One: There is no Attachment between Men_

-Tokyo, 1977-

"Kudou-san? Kudou-san, wake up." A hushed whisper was too low for him to hear, when he was so deeply engrossed in his afternoon nap. "Kudou-san, wake up!" The maid repeated. "Please, sir, wake up."

"Gweh?" Yohji mumbled. "'way. It isn't eveni…."

"But, Kudou-san, there is a telephone call for you. Mamoru-san would like to speak with you, sir. He was very insistent." She said, still quite intent on disturbing her employer.

Yohji groaned into the cushions and offered the maid a peek from underneath the cradle of his arms. "You must be new. No one disturbs my nap, on Ran's orders. Even if it's Mamoru, you're not supposed to bother me."

"Actually... actually it was Fujimiya-san who told me that I was to wake you, Kudou-san. You're supposed to speak with Mamoru-san. He has a headache and says you are to take the call instead." She replied, a slight bow her only apology.

"Oh, fine. Help me up, M…what's your name, anyway?"

"My name is Satsuki, sir."

Extending a hand to Yohji, she turned the man over on his back, sliding his legs down to the floor and helping him to sit upright, and then stand on wobbly legs. Ever on the lookout for telltale expressions of pain from his arthritis, of course, she left only when Yohji waved her away. He limped to Ran's office; the phone was placed neatly on the desk next to the cradle, and he could hear Mamoru's impatient breathing.

"Moshi mosh-"

"It took you long enough, Yohji!" Ken ribbed. "Mamoruuuuuu! The maids dragged Yohji to the telephone, here!"

There were a few soft noises of the telephone being passed from Ken's hand to Mamoru's, but without anyone dropping it in the process, as Ken was known to do.

"Put a sock in it. I've got arthritis!" Yohji huffed, sticking his nose in the air.

"What you mean is that you're getting old. Better not let Ran-kun catch you saying that." Mamoru returned slyly.

"I will never get _old_,_ Omiitchi_. I'll just be pleasantly ripened."

"Whatever lets you sleep at night. I've got some good news for you, Yohji-kun. Is Ran-kun in the room with you?" Mamoru asked, suddenly as Ken had been on the phone.

"Didn't the maids tell you? He has a headache; he's sleeping it off in the bedroom. What's so important?"

"I got the first copy of the book today." Mamoru said smugly. "The _very first _copy and I'm very tempted to keep it for myself."

"Don't you dare," Yohji growled. "Ran would kill you and you know it."

"Just teasing, just teasing. I have an author friend who will be in Tokyo tonight, and he said he'll leave it with the gate security in the morning before he leaves for Hokkaido. Is that all right?"

Yohji nodded his head vigorously for a moment, forgetting completely his arthritis, only to realize that Mamoru could not actually see him making the motion. "Of course, that's fine. I'll warn them. 'Bye, Mamoru--"

"You'd better read it to Aya-chan, Yohji-kun!" Mamoru warned, promising death at Ken's hands under his breath. "Except for the things that shouldn't be read to a lady."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Ran would kill me if I- what did you put in there, Mamoru?!?!" Yohji demanded. "We never said anything about putting our sexual encounters in there! Ran told you—"

"So says the pervert! I didn't put all of your sexual encounters in there, Yotan. Just the ones that were important to the development of your relationship."

Yohji growled. "Which would be…?"

"I suppose you'll just have to find out for yourself, won't you, Yotan? Wish Ran-kun a happy birthday tomorrow for me too, would you? Ja!" And Yohji was given a dial tone as an end to conversation.

"Ja, Omiitchi…"

-…-

It was too early to be roused from bed. Ran seemed to be especially snuggly this morning, curled around Yohji's torso with his hands tightly clasped at the base of his spine. Truth be told, Yohji, under any normal circumstances wouldn't wake before noon, lest someone shake him from his slumber.

Of course, Satsuki was currently doing just that, though she made not a sound. Silently but insistently seemed to be the way her motto with work.

Yohji waved halfheartedly with the arm furthest from Ran, lest he hit, or worse, rouse him before he was ready. If his lover wanted to sleep today, Yohji was going to make damned sure that he wasn't disturbed. Satsuki took a single step backwards from the bed, keeping her head bowed low. Ran stroked his hands up and down Yohji's spine a couple of times as he nuzzled his cheek against the other man's chest, a normal sleeping habit when he was comfortable. He winced a bit and rolled backwards against the restraint of Ran's hands. Instead of clinging, Ran let go in favor of wrapping himself in the bedclothes Yohji relinquished.

He buried himself further underneath when Yohji gingerly got up with Satsuki's tugging.

"Kudou-san," She whispered, "A package arrived for you this morning at the gate. A book from Mamoru-san?"

"Aa. Where is it?" Yohji asked, anxious to get hold of it.

"I left it in the office for you. Will you need my help with anything else, Kudou-san?"

"Have the car brought around to the front, would you? And…" he pondered for a moment, and then smiled lightly. "Have Ran's breakfast brought up here this morning. Everyone should be pampered on their birthdays." He reached down and stroked the bit of Ran's hair that stuck up from beneath the blankets.

"Yes, sir."

-…-

The car rolled to a gentle stop at the cemetery gates, wide open for the early passersby. A young couple stood off by a nearby grave stone with their dog, and Yohji couldn't have been sure, but they may have both been women. Not that he minded, at any rate. Aya-chan's gravestone was way at the top of the hill, with only a well worn foot path leading to the Fujimiya family graves. No hustle and bustle of a busy street to disturb the eternal rest of the Fujimiya family, no sir. Quiet and serene, with a timeless, almost feudal quality that still lived and breathed in Ran. The driver was off near the front of the car, holding out a cane that Ran had bought for Yohji almost a year before, but Yohji waved it away. He refused to use it, even if Ran had bought the thing in his best interests. He was not old enough to have to use it. If he had his way, he'd never have gotten old in the first place. He did take the blanket from him to sling it over the top of his satchel as he meandered up to the grave with his offerings.

As Ran would have done, Yohji bowed to the head stones of his parents, offering a quiet good morning to them both. He opened the satchel underneath the blanket, feeling past the bulk of Mamoru's book to the wrapped onigiri that Satsuki had put in as offerings. He bowed once more and laid the packets at the bases of the graves with mumbled prayers for their son's continued prosperity in the upcoming year in his life. To Ran's mother, he added a wish that their relationship would continue peacefully.

Off to the side was another grave, a bit more brightly decorated than the graves of Ran's parents, half covered in pinwheels and faded cloth blossoms that had been made many times over.

"Morning, Aya-chan." Yohji mumbled; it was _still_ way too early to be up, at least for his tastes. It wasn't even noon yet. "Mamoru gave me something to read to you today. It's his first book, you know? I haven't opened it yet; I figured I'd just wait until I got here…"

He gingerly lowered himself to the soft blanket he'd dropped on the pavement, wincing at the creaks in his bones, the aches in his muscles which were threatening violently to cramp up. A kiss was transferred from his fingertips to the front of the grave with the old, easy smile of one who had charmed many women in his day, before the laments of age and commitment had caught up to him.

"'M getting old, Aya-chan. But, anyway, I'm supposed to be relating news to you. That book arrived at the gate today, all the way from Kyoto. He told me he'd hit me next time he saw me, if I didn't read it to you." Yohji laughed. "Hit _me_, an old man!"

The stone, of course, didn't respond except for the whisper of the breeze along its sides.

"Now, let's see here…" Yohji tugged at the slick paper for a moment, looking for some sort of weak spot. It didn't budge, forcing him to reach into the pocket of his jacket for the old knife hidden in the bottom. Setting the package on the ground, he sliced carefully through the paper, and the string wrapped around the book.

Cattleya

By Tsukiyono Omi

He cracked the book open, just far enough to read it, but not far enough to harm the spine. He'd been smacked on the knuckles enough times by his partner to know better.

_Within this book is a true account of two lives, taken from the descriptions found in several letters, journals, and newspaper articles. They are only small pieces of the lives of two dear friends of mine, who were living in the heart of Japanese American internment from beginning to end. I do not wish to point fingers at the United States government, or to mock that time in anyone's mind. I only wish to share what I believe to be a most beautiful story with any who will take to heart my interpretation. So, here is my long overdue anniversary gift to you, Yohji and Ran. _

_Omi._

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. Yohji's heart sounded almost like a small, fluttering bird against his ribcage, but not from fear or resentment. Rather, it was just the mention of that time when he had met Ran that set his heart to fluttering, as it hadn't done for years.

"Well, I guess I really _have_ to read the rest of it to you now, hmm? After all, I've gotta make sure that he wrote our story right, or it's not much of an anniversary present, ne?" He cleared his throat a little, and set to reading.

-…-

-California, June 1941-

It never seemed to matter that it was long past noon when the young master finally chose to rise from his bed. His morning routine firmly in place, he always started by stretching long limbs towards the bright sky that streamed through his window and searched half-heartedly for his deeply tinted glasses when he was done. When these essentials have been finished, only then does he search for his robe, a dark green-patterned yukata that was a gift from his Japanese born mother, when she last visited her estranged family.

But today, just once, a single maid comes to knock on his door. She isn't at all like the ones he usually deals with during the day; the usual army of maids will bow at the smallest whim, or the first display of his charismatic charm. She does not leave, only continues to knock periodically until her young master opens his heavy bedroom door.

"Mister Gordon, Missus Rhoades would like to speak with you," She began. "And she says that you are not to lollygag in doing so. She gave you ten minutes from when you answered the door, sir."

"Ten minutes?!?! Sheesh. That's Mother for you. Where is she?" Gordon is exasperated now, dragging his hand through his dark blonde hair.

"You're to meet her in the northern gazebo for tea, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me." The maid bowed her head slightly, and then turned on her heel to leave.

"…Shit."

-…-

"I'm so glad you could join me, Yohji." Himeko said, her tone colored by a bit of sarcasm.

"Mother, I made it with a couple of minutes to spare, don't do that." Gordon replied. "And don't call me Yohji. I hate it when you call me that…"

"No matter if the rest of America calls you Gordon, you'll always be Yohji to me. You may be a Rhoades here, but in Japan you would be Yohji Kudou." It was the same thing that Himeko always said to him.

It made sense (as did most everything that Himeko said,) but it tended to wear on one's nerves after the first twenty years or so of his life had been consumed by that phrase. And there was the cause for the agitation with which he pulled out his plain wooden chair. He wrinkled his nose at the green tea that his mother so loved, preferring the coffee that his father had his staff order by the pound from South America. Nevertheless, he bowed his head when his mother poured a cup for him, sipping politely at the grass tasting stuff he would never finish. He wanted so badly to ask what Himeko had called him to speak about, but it would only trap him into waiting longer. After all, patience was the most virtuous thing a man could have, in his mother's eyes.

"Yohji, I want you to begin changing your habits… beginning with these next several weeks." Himeko told him. "No more sleeping until midday, and no staying out until all hours as you are accustomed to doing. We have let you get far too out of hand."

Gordon cringed a bit, and scratched at the nape of his neck before beginning to get up. _'Not this again… I should have stayed in Boston, out of her reach.'_

"Sit down, Yohji! I am not quite finished talking to you. My point is that we are having an important guest coming to stay with us, and you will respect him." She finished, knowing that her son had only heard part of what she said. "Don't argue with me, Yohji. Thurston agrees with me; you need to change your habits, and our guest will be a good way to begin this change."

The cringe manifested into a full-blown shudder now, with Gordon looking for any and all possibilities of escape from this onslaught of responsibility.

"Dare I ask why it's so important that I impress this guest of yours?" Gordon asked. "He's not a pretty girl, so why should I waste my time?"

"Yohji!" Himeko scolded. "This man is the son of a family very close to mine. He is about your age, and I expect you to be polite. The Fujimiya family has suffered several hardships since Japan's alliance with Germany, and their son is coming here to get away from the war."

"I thought there was no immigration allowed from Asia any more, _Okaasan_." Gordon reminded her, leaning backwards. "And I also thought you weren't close to your family because you married Father."

Himeko sighed, though he couldn't be sure of the exact reason why. "Your father pulled some strings, Yohji, and Fujimiya-san's father knew a few American politicians. Yohji, be polite to him, for me, please?"

Gordon leaned back in his chair again and tipped it so that it stood only on two wobbling legs. "…So, when's this 'prestigious son' coming to stay with us?"

This time, a smile pulled gently at the corners of Himeko's lips, the same smile she had given to her son, though without the snarky charm he possessed. "We'll wait at the front gate at eight am. He will arrive tomorrow morning. I think you can manage that. If you can't, I'll send Margaret with you when you go back to Boston for your fall semester."

"N-Not necessary, Mother. I'll be there a few minutes early, I promise." Gordon insisted. "Just promise ME that you won't send Margaret to Boston with me come fall?"

"I'm not going to make any promises, Yohji, until you prove that you can keep your own promises." Himeko told him. "If you come on time when you're asked, I'll consider it. Do we have an agreement?"

Gordon sighed. "Yes, ma'am."

He pushed back the chair a bit, and bowed low to Himeko. "I've…got to go if you don't mind. I've got some stuff I need to do." Gordon dragged a hand through his hair this time.

Just before Gordon opened the glass doors to the house, Himeko stopped him. "And Yohji? Be sure that you're at dinner tonight. I'm sure that your… lady friends can live without you for a while."

Another sigh. "…yes ma'am."

"Six pm, Yohji. Thurston is having guests in the formal dining room tonight. Wear your best suit---"

"Yes, I know. The charcoal one with the dark blue vest and tie. I'll be there."

'_You really don't ask for much, do you Mother? God, I need a cigarette.'_

-…-

It wasn't often that Gordon Rhoades glared at his reflection, but the look he was giving it was most definitely a glare. It was a glare for the suit he was wearing, unflatteringly cut and of a dull colour that did absolutely nothing for his eyes, or skin tone, or any of his gorgeous features that the ladies so willingly flocked to. The glare was also for the reflection that was so… so… UGLY. That was most definitely a suitable word for what this suit did to him. The stupid navy blue and the gray combination was not at all well chosen, even though his mother thought it to be very handsome. Sadly, though, it was his 'best' suit, and that was what he had been ordered to wear.

"I hate formal dinners. I hate this whole thing. But…I suppose it will get me away from Margaret come fall so I'll deal with it." He mumbled. _'For now, at least.'_

"Mister Gordon, Missus Rhoades would like you to come downstairs now. Mister Thurston will be coming with his guests soon, and she wants you to be with her when they arrive."

"Ah, KUSO!" He slammed a drawer shut, angry that it didn't contain what it should have. "Margaret, have you seen my cufflinks? I can't find them!"

Margaret opened the door and marched straight to Gordon's dresser, to pull out the set of silver cufflinks that matched his suit. "They're in the top drawer, in their box, just like they have been since the last time you wore the suit." She said, frowning.

"Thanks, Margaret. Now would you tell my mother I'll be down in just a minute, please?" Anything to get her out of his room, anything at all.

"Nonsense. Let me fasten them for you; it will be much quicker if I do. I can't have you dashing off right before Mister Thurston's big dinner, now can I?" She favored him with a somewhat evil smile, which revealed that she knew exactly what Gordon would do if given the opportunity.

"I hate it when you do that. I really do."

"I'm just doing my job, Mister Gordon."

"Yeah…I _know_. That job is to be a royal--"

"To watch over you while you're at home." Margaret finished quietly. "As it always has been."

"Whatever it is that helps you sleep at night." Gordon grumbled.

-…-

Gordon stopped just inside the parlor door, still frustrated about Margaret's ability to read him like a book.

"Yohji, your tie is crooked." Himeko scolded, while reaching for the offending garment.

Gordon gave a nervous laugh. "Oh, uh, sorry, Mother. I must have brushed up against it while I was looking for my cufflinks."

Himeko patted his cheek. "This is nice, isn't it? We never eat as a family anymore." She murmured. "Oh, it's almost six. Thurston should be returning soon. Let's go wait for him in the parlor, hmm?"

Gordon quirked an eyebrow at the way the room was lit. Usually, they would light small electric lamps on the tables scattered around the room, so that they could read or listen to the large radio sitting in the corner, for news, or a radio show, if Gordon where home late enough to hear one. Tonight, however, there was a fire lit in the ill-used fireplace, and candles lit in the corners, to make the room seem more welcome, more inviting, despite the fact that it was the middle of June.

'_Must be one hell of an important guest, if she's got all this stuff out.'_

"Thurston's guests have come all the way from the East coast, Yohji. We want them to be as comfortable as possible. So be respectful."

"I _know_, Mother. I'll keep it in mind."

The mantle clock settled into its hourly flurry of chimes, revealing it to now be six pm. Margaret waited patiently in the small, padded chair next to the door, hands folded neatly over her best skirt. Gordon was suddenly tempted to shift his weight from foot to foot; he hated this awkward silence, out of his social circles and comfortable atmosphere. If only one of his girls had been allowed to be a dinner date of some sort.

_If only._

Wait, that wouldn't have worked. Knowing his father and the type of guests he brought home for business, they would ask him all sorts of questions that would only raise the poor girl's hopes of him. Questions such as '_Who is this charming young lady?'_, and '_Oh, who's your father, miss? What type of business does he do?'_ or the most dreaded questions, the ones that always came from his mother. The '_when are you two going to get married? In the fall? In winter, or maybe a nice, quiet spring wedding. That would just be wonderful, wouldn't it, Thurston?'_ questions that led to all sorts of fumbled, awkward answers and a blushing young woman who'd never felt more out of place in her life. After, it would lead to him being bothered for the next six weeks by the typical 'future fiancée' type questions.

"_What season should we get married in? Spring, like your mother suggested? Or maybe summer, in that little chapel down by the ocean?"_

"_Where will we hold the wedding, Gordon?"_

"_When will you buy me a ring?"_

"_Where will we build a house, dear?"_

"_What will we name our children?"_

Gordon shuddered, rather glad that Himeko had barred him from seeing all of his girls; at least, he would be glad for tonight. It had been bad enough, going through it just that one time with Asuka about six months ago. He'd had to stop seeing her in short order, or risk being caught by another of his girls. And the most pathetic part about the whole deal was that he'd really liked her. He'd even thought he'd loved her, just a little beyond the driving lust that spurred on all of his conquests.

"I'll be back shortly, Missus Rhoades. I hear a car in the driveway; it will be Mister Thurston." Margaret said. Even though she said it, she still waited until Himeko acknowledged and dismissed her with a little wave.

Sure enough, there came the low hum of voices and the loud thump of male footsteps a few moments later, overshadowing Margaret's quiet patter as she led the way from the brightly lit foyer.

"Ah, just through here, gentlemen. Those double doors just around the corner. My wife and son will be waiting for us." Thurston said, gesturing heavily towards the parlor.

"Your son, Mister Rhoades? I was under the impression that he was studying in Boston." The man paused. "At Harvard, you said?"

"Yes, I did say that, Mister Crawford. Gordon has no studies during the summer, and came home to spend it quietly."

'Crawford' stepped through the door just before Thurston, giving Gordon a quick up and down glance before greeting Himeko with a slight nod. Margaret stared at the floor, and politely held the door open for the final guest. Just behind Thurston was the second guest, a tall, European man with garishly bright red hair. Gordon thought that perhaps he was of Irish descent, until he gave a soft greeting. His voice, while slightly harsh, carried an undeniable German accent, whereas his counterpart sounded as though he was from New England, in Maine or thereabouts.

Thurston looked understandably surprised at the sight of his son, standing straight and quite still next to Himeko, with a broad hand closed over her tiny shoulder. (After all, Gordon could promise a thousand things and never keep his word for a single one.) "Mr. Crawford, Mr. Schuldig, let me introduce you to my wife, Himeko, and my son, Gordon."

Himeko bowed low at the waist, and uttered a soft "konbon wa, gentlemen" while waiting for Gordon to pay his own respects. A bit awkwardly, he stuck his hand out to Crawford and then to Schuldig, receiving a couple of brief shakes from each for his pains.

"Uh, nice to meet you."

Gordon, if possible, grew even more bored during dinner. Business this, investments that, yes, the company was coming quite nicely out of a sales slump, whoop de doo. He was almost, but not quite tempted to trace patterns on the dark wood of the tabletop, as though he were twelve years old instead of twenty. But no, he must preserve his youthful dignity at all costs. Even though that knife was looking awfully tempting right about now… no. Not going to happen, not when Himeko was glaring at him from out of the corner of her eye, even as she was making polite conversation with Crawford. Schuldig grinned at him from across the table.

"Sprechen Sie Deutsch? _[Can you speak German?_" He asked suddenly, glancing quickly at Crawford and the Rhoades. "Wir können mehr frei reden, wenn Sie machen. _[We can speak more freely, if you can._"

"Uh...I kann ein kleines, aber nicht zu viel sprechen. _[Uh...I can speak a little, but not too much." _Gordon beganhesitantly."Sprechen Sie langsam, nicht wahr?_ [Speak slowly, would you?_"

"Selbstverständlich. _[Of course._" His look was nothing short of a sneer. _[You seem bored. Don't you go to these sorts of things a lot?_

Gordon snorted. _[Hell no. I avoid these things like the plague when I can. Why on Earth would I want to listen to my father talk to a bunch of old men about stuff I don't care about?_

_[Your father said you were in college. I'm assuming that you're studying some sort of business, so you can take after your father whenever he kicks the bucket._ Schuldig said, leaning on his hand now.

_[Again, __**hell**__ no. I'm studying literature to be a professor at one of the universities out here. But I know you don't care, so I won't bore you with the details._ Gordon replied, rolling his eyes. _[You don't seem the type to care about much at all. A man after my own heart._

_[You're right. I don't care. Here's my real question for you, Blondie. Do you like men?_ Schuldig's face reshaped into the sneer he'd worn before.

_[I don't think I…__**that**__ is one hell of a question to spring on a man!_ Gordon snapped. _[And no, I don't. Not in the way you're talking._

_[Pansy. It's just as good as being with a woman._

_[I don't want to hear it. Take your disgusting ideas elsewh-_ Shuldig cut him off. _[It's better, even. There are no emotional attachments between men. You don't have to worry about them pestering you about marriage, or faithfulness. Just a quick, simple fuck without all the babying._

That was the flag that caught Gordon's attention. He seemed to have that particular problem a hell of a lot. _[No attachment?_

_[Ah haaaa, so I've finally caught your interest, have I? No attachments at all. Am I still disgusting?_ He asked. There was a sudden foot brushing against Gordon's, from toe to heel and teasingly around the slight bump of his ankle. _[Well, Blondie?_

_[I…_ He floundered, shuddering a bit from the foreign touch. _[…Even if I were interested, we couldn't do THAT here, moron! My…_

_[Yes, yes I know. Your parents. Who says we'd have to do it in here, hmm? I'll just offer to take you out for a friendly drink._

There was a bark of laughter at that. _[Still a man after my own heart. If you can get me out of this place for one drink, I'll think about it. They'll trust you, at least; you're the guest._

_[Oh, by the end of the night, you'll be doing a bit more than thinking about it, or I'll eat Crawford's hat._ Shuldig told him.

A few moments later, Crawford finished the coffee Margaret had brought for him at some point, and stood. He offered his hand to Thurston, shaking it, and gave Himeko another curt nod.

"Schuldig, we should probably be going." Crawford stared over his glasses at the German, allowing no argument. "We don't want to overstay our welcome."

"Ah, Mr. Rhoades, Mrs. Rhoades, I'd like to steal your son for a few hours, if you don't mind. Just for a friendly drink in town." Schuldig wheedled. "Of course, if you'd rather I didn't, I completely understand."

"Of course we don't mind, Mr. Schuldig. Gordon's a grown man, after all." Thurston said, before Himeko could hope to protest. The promise he'd made earlier was completely forgotten in the interest of entertaining guests.

-…-

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it? You looked like you were about to shit yourself." Schuldig nudged him in the ribs, with that infuriating smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Seien Sie kein Esel. Ihre Mutter genießt nicht quälend Sie mögen meinen. _[Don't be an ass. Your mother doesn't enjoy tormenting you like mine._" Gordon grumbled.

"Should I call you something else so you can quit fucking _worrying_ already?" Schuldig asked, rolling his eyes.

_[Uh…call me Yohji. No one will recognize that name._ He sidled up to the bar, holding a crumpled bill pressed on him from Schuldig's pocket. "Just a beer."

The barman nodded, took the bill, and slid a good sized tankard to Gordon a few moments later, and the blonde made a point not to look at him, in case he recognized him from somewhere. He dumped a few coins on the hard wooden surface, which Schuldig scraped up and back into his pocket. It wasn't a place that he was familiar with, but just to be on the safe side. Schuldig nursed his own tankard halfheartedly, as he waited for his companion to finish.

_[Well, Yohji, I bought you your drink, and I have a small flat rented out across the street. Shall we go?_

Gordon groaned. Just what the FUCK had he gotten himself into this time? And for a single drink, no less?

-…-

"Quit shaking, you pansy. I'm bottoming, so you can quit acting like a frightened child now." Schuldig murmured, while he tossed his jacket over the back of a chair.

"Bottoming?" He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.

"Oh Gott. You are so fucking _sheltered_. It means I'm the one who's going to be fucked, not you. It'll be almost like being with a woman." He jerked off his suspenders, and tossed them over the back of the chair as well. "Come here, damn it."

Timidly, Yohji took a step towards the German, who slid his jacket off his shoulders and carefully onto the back of the chair with his own, joined shortly by his tie and suspenders. He smoothed his hands up and down the unblemished planes of Yohji's back, jerking the white shirt out of his trousers on the upstroke. Yohji himself just stood like a stone, rigid and still shivering under the teasing brushes of Schuldig's fingers.

"Sie wissen, _Yohji,_ es dürften sein ein wenig weniger erschrickt, wenn Sie tatsächlich sich an dies klein umtauscht beteiligt haben. _[You know, __**Yohji**__, it might be a little less frightening if you actually participated in this little exchange." _He suggested sarcastically. "Küssen Sie hier mich. _[Here, kiss me._"

Schuldig pressed his lips lightly to Yohji's, refusing to go further until the other man responded. It just wasn't any fun if both partners didn't get into the mood, after all. Gradually, Yohji opened his mouth under Schuldig's, probing lightly with his tongue, and trying to decide whether or not he liked the idea of a kiss between men. It wasn't so bad, he supposed; Schuldig's mouth was warm and wet, and he was a good deal more aggressive than anyone he'd ever been with before. A questing hand slid from back to front, sliding over abdomen and twitching pectoral muscles, but never touching any one spot for very long, teasing and drawing Yohji into a lull. He murmured every once in awhile, nonsense words that were purely to tease than to ease any lingering doubts.

Shivering for an altogether different reason this time, Yohji felt his lower regions begin to stir against the front of his trousers. Schuldig smirked as he continued to explore the American's upper body, purposely avoiding the touch Yohji wanted most.

_[A bit excited __**now**__, are we?_

"…Shut up."

He chuckled at Yohji's shyness, though he cut it short with a sudden thrust of his hips. Schuldig's own excitement pushed insistently towards the other man, eager to get on with this little game. Yohji, in the German's opinion, was taking far too long to get comfortable with the situation, even as he arched at the contact.

_[Well, get on with it already. I don't like waiting._

And so he pulled Yohji to him for another kiss, so that they were pressed together from shoulders all the way down to their knees. The German murmured something impatiently against his lips, grunting in agreement when Yohji's hands finally began to reciprocate his touch. Almost virginal, he skimmed the tips of his fingers over the soft fabric of Schuldig's shirt, undoing one button after another until bare skin was exposed to him, and slid the garment off to the floor with little care. He actively began to explore the expanse of his partner's neck with lips and tongue, rewarded with little hums when he found a place Schuldig liked, or a sharp pinch to his side when he did something wrong. This wasn't so bad…perhaps even better, because he knew how a man's body worked, and he didn't have to be gentle or soothing, or any of that other stuff that he did with his ladies.

Schuldig pulled hurriedly at the buttons of his trousers when his legs struck the bed, which in turn shocked Yohji back into a moment of reality just long enough to make him undo his own. They were dropped to the floor with long discarded socks and shoes.

-…-

Yohji turned a rather brilliant shade of crimson now, shutting the book with a little more vigor than he'd intended. "I don't think I need to read the rest of that part to you, Aya-chan. Ran would most definitely kill me for it."

He pondered for a moment, and questioned why in the world he'd ever let Mamoru read those parts of his journals.

"Shi ne!" He chuckled. "That's what he'd say to me for sure, ne, Aya-chan? We'd be right back to the way we were when we met."

He had another quiet laugh to himself, glancing at the sky a few seconds later. Though it was mostly blue over the cemetery now, dark clouds rumbled off in the north, dragging bellies swollen with rain and unleashed storm potential in the general direction of where he was sitting.

"Oh, it looks like it's going to rain, Aya-chan. I should probably go, or your precious nii-sama will skin me alive for catching a cold." Yohji murmured. "I'll say this about it, though. He's got my anticipation down to the letter. I feel like I'm living it all over again."

'_Even though I'd rather forget that little encounter with Schuldig.'_ He added mentally, so that Aya-chan couldn't hear.

His longtime driver honked the horn a couple of times; he had no more desire to be yelled at by Ran than Yohji did. "Kudou-san, we should be heading back soon. Fujimiya-san will be upset if—"

"I know, I know! I'm coming! Give an old man some time to hobble, will you?" Yohji grumbled, even as he gathered his things. _'I know my own lover, thank you very much!'_

Purposely, Yohji shuffled his way down the hill as slowly as he could, even though he wasn't terribly stiff today. They'd done this little dance a thousand times, and each time, the driver got off with no trouble, if only because Ran knew his lover far too well to punish someone else for his faults. Yet the man still worried every time, afraid that 'Ran-sama' would snap and fire him.

-…-

"It certainly took you long enough to get home, Yohji." Ran grumbled.

Someone had most definitely woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning. But then, that was pretty common when he woke up with only a cold nest of blankets for company. It must be the whole lack of snuggling getting to him, Yohji was sure.

"I was visiting Aya-chan this morning. It's her nii-sama's birthday after all. She wouldn't want to miss anything that's happened with you." Yohji said. "What's the matter? Were you _lonely_ without me, Raaan-chan?"

Ran's hand shot out to thump him soundly on the stomach, all the while masking the subtle smile at his lover's care for Aya-chan. "Who in the world would miss a buffoon like you? I was enjoying the quiet."

Suddenly nimble, Yohji trapped Ran in his arms. "Mamoru would miss me, and you know you would too. Even if it was only because you didn't have someone to pick on every day."

"_Gordon_. Stop that. The servants are still here." His given name was supposed to mean trouble, but Yohji didn't really feel Ran trying to move away, or worse, jab him in the ribs with his bony elbows.

"And that's bothered you when?" He blew softly on Ran's ear, making him shudder, and got a sharp pinch on his thigh for his troubles. "Mamoru sent us a package today. It's that book he's been working on for so long."

Ran gave in and wrapped his arms around Yohji's neck, pillowing his head on the other's shoulder as an afterthought. "Our book, you mean?"

"Yes. Our book. I read a little of it to Aya-chan this morning, but only enough to get through the first part of my journals." Yohji mumbled.

Ran promptly dug his nails into his lover's neck. In this facet of Ran language, that translated to _'you'd better not have read any of __**those**__ parts to Aya-chan.'_

"Relax, would you? I stopped before I got to anything too racy. You know I'd only share them with you, love." He teased.

"Sap." Ran accused. "You only let Mamoru have those journals because you're hoping it will get you in good graces for a few months, just because it's all romantic crap."

"Only with you, _Ayan_." Yohji made a move as if to scoop his lover into his arms, to carry him across the foyer and up the stairs to their bedroom as he'd done only a few years ago, but stopped. His bones protested the movement, so he let go. "…An old man at fifty, Ayan. It's stupid."

"If you'd actually exercise once in a while, you'd get over it." The tone in Ran's voice dared Yohji to say it again, to say that they're old and grey and worthless. If he did, the promise of a thorough ass-kicking in the gym followed, no matter how stiff and sore Yohji complained to be. "Your arthritis isn't that bad, the doctor said so the other day."

"Someone's definitely in a bad mood this morning." Yohji mumbled, wrapping his arms around Ran's shoulders.

Ran elbowed him this time. "Not in a bad mood. You're assuming things."

Quietly, Ran slipped out of the circle of Yohji's arms and glided towards the bottom of the stairs, tempting Yohji to follow him up with lingering touches of fingers on his neck and arms. Around the ornate staircase he led him, and across plush carpet to the double door of their bedroom. Yohji basked in the rare glow of open affection from Ran; he had been raised to be solemn and quiet and though Yohji had tried to break him of not being affectionate at home for all the years they'd lived together, it hadn't completely worked. More surprisingly, it was the middle of the morning, when the few servants were still present.

"Ran, what's the matter? What's bothering you?" The affection was a distraction of some sort; it had to be, for Ran to still be touching him even as he saw Satsuki scurrying down the hall and out of sight. He slid a hand down the side of his lover's face. "Ran?"

"Come here, Yohji." Ran told him, getting close as he possibly could.

How could Yohji think anything but that Ran wanted to have sex? It had been several months, after all, between Ran's increasingly frequent migraines and Yohji's insistent arthritis. Kissing the side of his neck, he slowly backed the other man up to their bed, and collapsed with him as his knees gave way. He slid a hand into the open collar of Ran's shirt, smoothing over his collarbone and pinching a nipple already puckered with cold. And though Ran arched into the soft touch, his hands were reaching for the rucksack still slung over Yohji's shoulder. Pressing the clip at the bottom of the strap, he only just succeeded in pulling it free when his lover sat up rather abruptly.

"Be right back, Ayan." He promised, sliding off the bed and back to the door. He locked it with a quiet click; they couldn't be interrupted now, so he sidled back to the bed (and more importantly, Ran) with a sudden easy grace not betraying arthritic bones.

However, Ran's plans seemed to have changed in that short amount of time, since he didn't even spare a passing glance. Yohji flopped face down on the bed, deflated. Ran simply continued to rummage for a moment.

"Yohji," He sighed in exasperation. "Look at me."

Yohji peered at him from beneath his arm, but only for a brief second before he resumed pouting. "If you don't want me, don't tease me, Ran. Maybe we should just end this whole thing."

That earned Yohji a roll of the eyes and a smart, stinging slap to his rump. "Baka. Quit assuming stupid things. We're not going to end this just because of a lack of sex." Ran settled himself over Yohji's back, pillowing his head on his shoulder and sliding the heavy book under his lover's arm. "I want you to read this to me."

"Read it yourself." Yohji retorted.

That earned him another smack, on his ribs this time. "Mamoru wrote this copy in English. You know I'm not very good at reading English."

Yohji responded with silence this time.

"Read it, or I'll tell Mamoru that you read all the racy bits to Aya-chan." Ran whispered.

He turned his head just far enough to look at Ran. "You bastard. You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me, Yotan." Ran replied. "Read everything to me. Even the parts with Schuldig."

Well, that was a first. There was an unspoken rule that they never spoke of Schuldig, because he had fucked up Yohji's view on homosexuality. By that same rule, they never spoke of Ran's lover Yuushi either, to eliminate any jealousy between them. So Yohji grudgingly relinquished his bad mood in favor of a slightly better one, earning a kiss to the nape of his neck as reward.

"I'll just pick up where I left off… can't have Aya-chan hearing anything too racy, now can we, Ayan?" He laughed quietly. "You know, Mamoru can write some pretty nasty parts, for as innocent as he acts."

"He does have Ken, Yohji." Ran reminded him. "Now read."

"As instinct slowly began to return, Yohji smoothed his hands up and down Schuldig's torso, lingering over spots which made him moan more loudly, more insistently."

-…-

The moans went straight to his groin now, drawing him into this strange dance between men. Schuldig pulled him back on the narrow bed, but Yohji didn't put the whole of his weight on the other man just yet. He found this amusing, apparently, laughing and calling him something in German that Yohji couldn't quite make out. Schuldig guided his hands down chest and flat stomach again, a surprisingly patient attempt to get him to the ultimate goal, for someone who had done little but push and prod the whole evening. And though Yohji was now more or less comfortable with rubbing through fabric, he balked at the idea of actually touching another man's cock.

_[Get on with it, already!_ He repeated with a growl.

Yohji glared at him, viciously tweaking a nipple between two fingers. At the sudden grip on his erection, he almost hit the ceiling, relaxing slightly as that hand moved further back to caress his balls and massaging the sensitive skin all over until Yohji was shuddering above his partner. His short thrusts were cut off by Schuldig's hand moving towards his ass. Circling around the puckered opening, even with just that single digit was enough to cause nervous tension in Yohji's whole body.

_[You're taking too long, Blondie._ He hummed. _[I'll just explore for a bit, unless you're going to hustle it up._

When Yohji's brain began to move through the tension, he was reminded that he could mimic Schuldig's movements, do to the German what was being done to him. Even as Schuldig switched their positions, still stroking up and down his cock, he found that he still could not move his body through his daze. This should be the part he was most looking forward to. The languid joining of bodies and sliding of sweat-slicked skin wrapped in moans and expressions of pure hedonistic pleasure shared between two people.

Schuldig was reaching behind himself while Yohji lay in his daze, fingers slicked in oil of some type. _[Oi. You look like a fish out of water down there._ He flipped his long hair back over his shoulder. _[I knew I was stunning, but you're flattering me, Blondie._

Green eyes glared at him for just a moment, and Yohji raised his legs out of the blue, sending Schuldig toppling off to the side of the bed. The German smirked.

_[That's better. Aggression is a good thing, Blondie._ He sneered. _[Now watch and learn._

He drew his legs up so that his knees rested against his shoulders, baring all to the watchful eyes of his 'student', a finger slipped down to trace over his skin, tempting, wanton. That same finger circled around the tiny pucker of his anus and spread the oil over him, and Yohji was suddenly struck with the realization that it was _there_ that he was going to fuck Schuldig.

"Are you done playing now, Schuldig?" Crawford murmured from the doorway. "His parents will wonder what you've done with him."

Yohji bolted at the sight of his father's associate, diving into the corner for his clothes.

_[Aww, lover, you ruined my fun._ Schuldig whined, giving himself a few half hearted strokes.

"Fool."

_[Who's the fool, me or the pansy cowering in the corner? _He presented himself more enticingly to Crawford, who was seemingly torn between keeping an eye on Yohji and being tempted by his lover's movements.

So instead of giving in to either of his internal demands, he clarified. "Anyone who would sleep with you is a fool, but you are always more of a fool than anyone else." Clarification was not something only for Schuldig, however. "Rhoades. Get your things and get out of here. Ignore him."

[_Lover, you destroy all my fun. He's not leaving until I get fucked. Now shut up and watch, or… you could join in on the fun, you know. Might loosen you up for just a bit._ Schuldig glanced back over at Yohji, who was completely soft by now and tugging up his trousers with a vicious impatience. _[And where the fuck are you going? Get back over here!_

Crawford growled, unused to sharing, much less outright defiance of a direct order. Yohji was still frozen in the corner half into his clothes, apparently unused to being caught in such a compromising position. He felt the headache building in the very front of his skull, beneath the pinching of thumb and forefinger, and against his better judgment, beckoned to Yohji with his free hand.

"Don't bother getting dressed, Rhoades."

"_Sweet mother_…" He was starting to think that maybe his mother had been on to something. A lack of common sense, perhaps?

Schuldig was covering Crawford's neck with playful kisses when Yohji finished shucking his clothes back onto the floor. The man's tie was nowhere to be seen, and the last of the buttons was just coming undone beneath Schuldig's nimble fingers, which immediately dove inside to stroke up and down pale skin.

_[Knew you'd change your mind, lover._ He teased. _[Told you it wasn't that different from being with a woman, Yohji. Lover here doesn't put too much of a fuss, see? _He stroked lightly over his lover's sex, pushing up against his trousers.

He flipped the buttons open and tugged down the remaining garment. Crawford, who had been soaking his fingers in the bottle of oil Schuldig had abandoned earlier, pushed the very tip of his forefinger into the German's ass. Schuldig groaned softly in the back of his throat and wrapped his arms about Crawford's neck.

The dark haired man rolled his eyes. "It's actually quite different from being with a woman, but you categorize fucking as all the same thing… so I shouldn't be all that surprised." Schuldig whimpered when Crawford wiggled the finger in just a little further, and began moving it in and out. "Spread your legs a little wider. Rhoades, lay down on the bed."

Yohji crept awkwardly past the two men and laid himself on his back, hoping that it was what Crawford meant. No sooner had he flattened out his body then did Crawford dump Schuldig ungracefully next to him on the bed.

_[Oi! What was that about?!_ Schuldig demanded.

"Suck him." Crawford instructed. "_Now_."

Schuldig rolled over so that he was on his stomach and conveniently between Yohji's legs with a wink.

[Hands to yourself, Blondie. And no matter how good I am at this, don't scream.

He opened his mouth slightly, just enough to let his tongue flicker over Yohji's sex. Yohji's head smacked against the pillow, and then Schuldig's mouth was covering the tip, sucking just hard enough to tease. He hummed when Crawford got behind him to reinsert his fingers.

One finger, in and out several times, then more oil.

Two fingers, repeat…

Three fingers…

Crawford spread the oil over himself after withdrawing his fingers, but Yohji was too far gone in his pleasured daze to really register it until there was another groan, vibrating all the way to the base of his shaft. The German's head began to bob a little harder, taking Yohji a little deeper into his throat as he was fucked, Crawford's fingers tight on his hips. At the same time, both Yohji and Schuldig's moans were getting a little louder, a little too loud, even, when Crawford flattened himself over his lover's back to cover Yohji's mouth.

"Qui- ah, quiet, Rhoades."

Schuldig let Yohji out of his mouth for a moment, pushing himself into his lover's chest. _[Ah, gonna… Lover, let me…_

The American pulled out abruptly. "Not yet. Turn around, Schuldig."

Yohji needed no prompting this time, guiding himself into Schuldig's ass and thrusting madly into the tight heat. Crawford pulled Schuldig's head down onto his own sex, stifling his cries as the German was unable to hold out for more than a few seconds. Yohji groaned a final time at the tightening of muscle around him, spurting hard. Crawford was not far behind, thrusting into Schuldig's mouth only once before his body grew taught.

All three collapsed onto the nearest bit of empty bed, closer than Yohji would have thought, but not altogether uncomfortable.

Schuldig curled up next to Crawford with a sleepy smirk. _[Aren't you glad I didn't let him leave, lover?_

Crawford grunted halfheartedly.

-…-

Fully dressed and making his way out into the cool night, Yohji was only halfway content as he left the little hotel. Though Crawford had (grudgingly) consented, he'd been intruding on something much deeper, he figured. His bigger predicament, however, was that it was closing in on midnight and he was clear across town. He reached hopefully into his coat pocket, scraping, scraping…

Apparently there was a God after all, just for tonight. He brought up a few folded bills, more than enough to hire a cab for the ride home. Yohji raised his arm high above his head and waited for the nearest cab to stop.

"Where to, mister?"

Yohji rattled off the address, and as an afterthought told the cabbie to take the short way. The man waved at another street, insisting that it was the shortest route, though Yohji knew better.

"You'll take the route I told you if you want any money." Yohji said warningly.

The cabbie grumbled something about rude passengers, but sped off in the direction he'd been told.

-…-

"Thanks." Yohji said quickly, passing the money to the cabbie.

He scrambled out of the back seat and towards the gate, hoping to whatever god was looking out for him that Margaret was already asleep. The lantern light on the veranda was enough to shatter that hope, for Margaret was there, sleepy and most definitely angry.

"Mister Gordon, where have you been all this time? I'm waiting." She tapped her foot impatiently.

"Just out for a few drinks with Dad's associates. Relax, would you?"

Margaret raised herself up to full height, stiffening her spine against any excuses Gordon might make. "I can't just 'relax', Mister Gordon. Missus Rhoades told me this morning that you'd promised not to be out all hours!"

"Mother knew where I was and was perfectly agreeable. If you don't believe me, you can always go wake Dad. I'm sure he'd tell you the same thing." Gordon replied.

Immediately, the woman backed off. She had no desire whatsoever to confront her employer when his sleep had been interrupted.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed. Wake me up early, I have to be down at the front gate with Mother at 8am!"

Margaret spat out a 'yes Mister Gordon' between clenched teeth, heading off to bed.

-…-

"Thurston, what time is it?" Himeko asked, protected from the early morning sun by an elegant silk parasol embroidered with cranes in various colors.

"It's only ten 'till eight, Himeko. I'm sure that Gordon will be here in a few minutes." He reached out and patted her hand. "He promised he would be, after all."

Himeko forced herself to keep from saying that more often than not, Gordon did not keep his promises, settling instead for a deep nod of agreement. "You're probably right. I just don't wish to offend Fujimiya-san, that's all."

"Why on earth would you think that Fujimiya would be offended by Gordon not being here to greet him with us?"

_/I told him that my family would be here to greet him. He may not find it offensive, but it is still rude of Gordon to sleep the morning away when Fujimiya-san has come on such a long journey…/_ Himeko murmured.

_/Are you looking for me, Mother?/_

"You made it after all! Well done, son!" Thurston crowed, thumping Gordon on the back. "Good morning for guests, good morning to be alive, eh?"

"Err… yes. Good morning for guests, if you say so." Gordon agreed, albeit a bit hesitantly. If not for Margaret's intervention, he'd have still been fast asleep.

Himeko coughed delicately into a small handkerchief, making a pointed motion at Gordon's shirttails, hanging haphazardly from his waistband. With Himeko's potent glare fixed on him, Gordon hastily tucked them in, smoothing back his short blonde hair for good measure.

/That's better, Gordon. Here/ She patted the chair next to her own. /Come sit with me until Fujimiya-san's car arrives. /

"Sure…"

As he eased himself into the low wooden chair, Gordon noticed that the kimono his mother wore was not just one of her silk ones which she wore for company; rather it was a multilayered affair with the family crest right below the collar, the obi padded and the high zori that went along with the outfit. He'd only ever seen his mother wear it a few times, once when her father had come to visit, once when he had graduated from high school, and once in the pictures from their wedding. Fujimiya must be a whole lot more important than he'd thought if she'd allowed that kimono to be brought out at all.

The gates were opened at precisely eight o' clock, allowing the slow paced entrance of two long black cars with heavily tinted windows. Up the drive they trundled, the driver of the first tipping his hat to the family as he slowed to a stop. He got out to unload Fujimiya's trunks from his car, setting great heavy things on the ground one by one. The second car stopped only about a foot behind him, and the driver scurried out of his seat to open the door for his passenger.

'Please let Mother have lied about Fujimiya… let it be a pretty girl!'

A slender, black shod foot thumped on the gravel, followed shortly by its partner, both attached to equally slender legs. Fujimiya wore a dull gray waistcoat and trousers accompanied by a silken tie of deepest violet. Gordon wasn't particularly curious about his face, until he noticed the long tendrils of crimson hair which framed it. A trick of the light, perhaps. Looking up, he stared straight into Fujimiya's eyes, also violet, saw that his whole head was that bright crimson color, as though someone had dyed his hair with blood. The man paid him little attention at first, bowing to Thurston and offering thanks for his hospitality, as well as a small, squat box wrapped in plain brown paper.

Thurston nodded to him, and thanked him quietly in return. Fujimiya beckoned to the first driver, who brought over a larger, flatter box for him to take. Fujimiya stepped up to Himeko as the driver went to retrieve something else, and bowed more deeply than he had to Thurston, all the way to his waist with a few mumbled words before giving her the second box. The last box was given to him by the driver, and then the man was waved off to finish unloading. He bowed in the same manner as before to Gordon, whispering 'Fujimiya Aya desu' in quick succession.

Gordon stared at him for a moment, until Himeko's sharp pinch to the small of his back reminded him of his manners.

_/Ah, I'm sorry. Thank you, Mr. Fujimiya./_

_/It's Aya./_ He corrected. _/Mr. Rhoades./_

_/If I'm supposed to call you Aya, you call me Gordon. Agreed?/_

_/Agreed./_

Himeko rewarded Gordon with a small smile, happy for the moment with his display of manners.

"Fujimiya-kun, shall we all go inside? I'm sure that you must be tired from your trip from Tokyo. I had our cooks make a traditional breakfast, if it suits you?" Himeko asked, as Thurston helped her to her feet.

Aya bowed again. "Thank you, Himeko-sama."

-…-

"Ran, I think that you're going to have to get off me, I'm starting to get stiff." Yohji groaned. "And I'm thirsty! Ran!"

Ran rubbed his cheek against the sharp bone of Yohji's shoulder before he rolled off to the side, flinging his hand over his eyes.

Yohji sat up gingerly. "Another headache, Ran? I could send for some aspirin."

Ran grunted the negative, suddenly burying his face in Yohji's flat stomach and effectively trapping him there with his arms.

"My, aren't we snuggly today? My mother would have never believed that you were a snuggly person, Ran."

"Shut up, Yotan. Just shut up for a little bit."

"But I haven't said happy birthday yet." Yohji protested. Ran hiked up his shirt a little bit, treating Yohji's stomach to a long lick from his waistband to his navel as a poor excuse to shut him up. Instead, he got a sharp hiss of breath for his pains. "Don't st-start unless you intend to finish, Ran…"

Ran pushed Yohji back down on the bed, and climbed on top of him to straddle his hips. "Maybe later, if you're good… how was she, this morning?"

"Since she didn't rain fire down on me in rage for defiling her brother, I assume Aya-chan was pretty happy. Ow! I did not deserve to be smacked for that!" Yohji hollered.

Ran seemed content to play for the moment. "I keep telling you, that time you got burnt sitting by the fireplace was my mother's spirit. She's the spiteful one."

"Spiteful, nothing! She's downright vengeful, and you know it!"

Ran leaned down and kissed Yohji lightly, turning it into something deeper when he felt Yohji's tongue probing at the seal of his lips. They stayed like that for several minutes, their book forgotten somewhere between the pillows. Not even Satsuki seemed to have a desire to bother them now.

"I don't remember our meeting going quite that smoothly." Ran commented. "I remember you being a little ruder than that."

"Ruder?! I don't know what you're talking about." He gave a bit of a sniff, and turned his head. "I was a perfect gentleman."

Ran just lowered his mouth to Yohji's neck, nibbling at the soft flesh giving way to stubble at the line of his jaw, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. "Move again and die." He warned.

"Mmm-hmm. Happy birthday, Ran."


End file.
